


Christmas Crackers

by jane_with_a_j



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bad Jokes, Garashir If You Squint, Gen, Oh look it's a Christmas story, The Universal Translator Cannot Handle Puns, also Jadzia/Worf, it's tradition, you have to wear the paper crown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_with_a_j/pseuds/jane_with_a_j
Summary: In an attempt to boost morale among his senior staff, Captain Sisko throws a traditional Earth-style Christmas party, complete with Christmas crackers.  Reactions among the crew to the paper crowns and terrible jokes are mixed.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Christmas Crackers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grunge_mermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grunge_mermaid/gifts).



> Oof, you guys. The last time I attempted Star Trek fic, DS9 and Voyager were still on the air. But then grunge_mermaid made a passing reference to Worf in a paper crown, and I got to thinking about the general chaos that is my family with Christmas crackers in a more normal year than this one has been, and this thing pretty much wrote itself.
> 
> Written in a shortbread-fueled haze and minimally edited. Take this nonsense as it is.

Sisko peered at the tiny slip of paper in his hands.

“What do you get from a pampered cow?” he asked. He looked around the table, where the senior staff and their guests were gathered. He raised his eyebrows. “No one?” A sea of bemused faces stared back at him. “Spoiled milk!”

“Boooooo,” said Kira. “That's terrible!”

“Terrible,” Keiko agreed.

“Why do hu-mons drink the breastmilk of other mammals, anyway?” Quark asked. “It's degenerate, if you ask me.”

“This from a man who eats bugs,” said Miles.

“Be nice, people,” said Jadzia. “It's a party.”

With the war raging and spirits on the station at an all-time low, Captain Sisko had been looking for a way to boost the crew's morale. It had been Jake who suggested throwing a traditional human Christmas party, complete with an elaborate meal, a gift exchange, and old-fashioned Christmas crackers.

“Alright, Major,” said Sisko. “If you don't like my joke, let's hear yours.”

“Mine doesn't make any sense,” Kira complained. “An apple is red, yellow and green. What do you call it?” She looked around the table. “You peel it with a knife.”

This non-sequitur was met with total silence. It was Miles who spoke first.

“Let me see that.” He took the paper from Kira's hand and stared at it for a moment. “Must be a pun that didn't translate right,” he said.

“The UT is pretty bad with puns,” said Jadzia. “What language is it?”

“Looks like French,” said Miles. “Julian, you speak French.” He handed the slip of paper to the doctor. “Is this funny?”

Julian peered at the joke written in tiny letters on the paper. “Eh,” he said after a moment. “A little bit? In French, the words for 'call' and 'peel' sound similar. So the joke is that at first, you assume that it's asking how you call it, but then–”

“Alright, alright, you don't need to explain it,” said Miles. “A pun that doesn't translate. Got it.”

“I believe mine may also be a pun that doesn't translate,” said Odo. “What do you call Santa's helpers? Subordinate Clauses.”

Keiko gave a snort of laughter. No one else reacted.

“What?” she said. “It's funny.” Silence. “Oh, come on,” she said. She looked at Miles, who shrugged. At Garak, who shook his head. At Kira, who avoided her gaze. “Figures that the schoolteacher would be the only one to laugh at a grammar joke,” said Keiko.

“Worf,” said Jadzia. “You haven't told us your joke yet.”

“I do not wish to take part in this foolishness,” said Worf. “It is bad enough that you made me wear this ridiculous paper crown.”

“Oh, come on,” said Jadzia, adjusting her own bright blue crown. “You look charming in it.”

“Speaking of crowns, doctor,” said Garak in a low voice. “I think you should consider trading with me.”

Julian blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“Well,” said Garak. “It's just that that shade of green does nothing for your complexion. You really would look far better in the purple crown.”

“I thought you hated it when I wear purple,” said Julian.

“No,” said Garak, “I hate it when you wear that one purple sweater. The one with the green trim.”

“I like that sweater.”

“Which only proves that you are in dire need of my assistance when it comes to fashion,” said Garak.

“And therefore I should trade crowns with you,” said Julian.

“Precisely,” said Garak, beaming. “I'm so glad we understand each other.”

“Are you sure you don't want the green crown because it matches the green in your tunic?”

“My dear doctor, you wound me. I'm only looking out for your best interests.”

“By saving me from wearing a green paper crown.”

“Indeed.”

“Fine.” Julian pulled the purple paper crown from Garak's head and swapped it out for his green one, adjusting his new crown at what he hoped was a rakish angle. “But you can't have my toy.”

“Toy?”

“This,” said Julian, holding up a small plastic magnifying glass and peering through it. “Detective Julian Bashir, on the case.”

“Detective?”

“Yeah,” said Julian. “Because of the magnifying glass?” At Garak's look of incomprehension, Julian sighed. “You use it to look for clues.”

“And exactly how does this ... magnifying glass ... help one to find clues?”

“I don't know, it ... it magnifies things. Small things. So you can see them better.”

“And this helps you to solve crimes, does it?” Garak turned to Odo. “Constable, do you carry a magnifying glass with you when you go about your daily work?”

“No,” said Odo.

“It's _pretend!_ ” said Julian, looking from Garak to Odo and back again before sitting back in his chair with a huff. “Fine, what toy did you get, Garak?”

Garak held up something silver and sparkly. “It appears to be some sort of hair clip,” he said.

Julian brightened. “Oh, you have to wear it,” he said.

“I don't think so, my dear doctor,” said Garak. “It clashes most hideously with my outfit.” A flash of mischief in his eyes. “And here I only just succeeded in acquiring a matching paper crown.”

“You have to wear it, it's tradition,” said Julian.

“Is it? And what would you know about it? I thought your family didn't celebrate Christmas growing up?”

“We didn't,” said Julian. “But living in England, it was hard to avoid it entirely. Give it here.” Before Garak could stop him, Julian had snatched the glittery barrette and was clipping it into the fine black hair above Garak's left ear. “There,” he said. “And may I say, you look quite fetching.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” said Garak. “But since it's tradition, I will allow it.” He had already decided that as soon as possible, he would give the clip to Molly O'Brien, who was going through a glitter-on-everything phase and would love it.

At the other end of the table, Jadzia smacked Worf on the arm.

“You hear that?” she said. “If your prize is something wearable, you have to wear it. It's tradition.”

“Jadzia, this ... _object_ will not fit me.” Worf held up a child-sized silver ring, inset with a sparkly pink rhinestone the size of a bottlecap.

“Sure it will,” said Jadzia, grabbing Worf's hand. She took the ring and shoved it onto his pinky finger, forcing it over the first knuckle. It was as far as it would go. “Gorgeous,” she said, smiling brightly. “It matches your crown.” Worf made a vaguely grumpy noise, but didn't protest any further. “Now that you're fully in the spirit of things,” said Jadzia, “how about you tell us your joke?”

Worf sighed. “Very well,” he said. He picked up his slip of paper and glanced down at it. “What do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?”

Kira leaned over toward Odo. “What's a boomerang?” she whispered. Odo shook his head. He didn't know either.

“I give up,” said Sisko. “What _do_ you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?”

Worf's expression was that of a man in unbearable pain.

“A stick,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Jadzia's toy is a deck of teeny-tiny playing cards. Which she will use to host teeny-tiny poker night for the next month or so, until the flimsy cardboard gives out.
> 
> Jokes courtesy of a set of bilingual Dollarama Christmas crackers.


End file.
